Centerfold
by jenajasper
Summary: Dean has spent almost his entire life caring for his little brother. Now Sam will find out just how far he will go when Dean's past is exposed.
1. Chapter 1

Sam had no idea of some of the things that Dean had done. Even at a young age, he had to find ways to take care of his little brother. These were times when the money ran out and Sam was hungry.

Dean had grown from a funny looking kid into a good looking teenager. By the time he was eighteen, he had reached his full height; his training had given him a solid, well-sculpted physique and mother nature had given him a beautiful face.

He wasn't old enough, and his face didn't fool anyone, so pool hustling, in bars, was still in his future. But, he found another way to make money. And all he had to do was stand there.

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Sam had never seen anyone, so casual about his appearance, primp so much. Dean loved to look at himself. The hair had to be perfect; he checked his skin, his teeth, his nails. Sam had been waiting over fifteen minutes. He said, "Dean, we're not having our pictures taken. Would you move it?"

He watched his brother's expression change into a mask. Then, he gruffly answered that he was ready.

Sam mentally kicked himself. He didn't understand it but he knew that Dean didn't react well to comments about having his picture taken. He knew they had to keep a low profile and avoid the authorities but, he wouldn't even let Sam take a picture on his phone.

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They walked into the gas station convenience store and were immediately approached by the creep. He stepped directly in their path and started in on his spiel. He put his hands up, thumbs touching, and tilted them as if framing a picture. He rambled about angles and focus and light. Then he looked Dean in the face and stopped.

The creep appeared to be in his fifties with shiny black hair. The shine was not from nature but from a tube of something greasy enough to keep the intermittent growth in its place. In fact, his eyebrows were thicker. At a quick glance, Sam compared him to a rodent.

He said, "I know that face. I never forget one of my models." He gave Dean a smirk. Sam felt like he needed a shower.

Dean said, "You're mistaken. Now, excuse me." The timbre of his voice made it almost unrecognizable and it was emotionless.

Sam saw the look in his brother's eyes even before Dean himself knew it was there. This guy would be dead in a minute. He put his hand on Dean's chest and sent him to pay for the gas.

He told the creep, "I just saved your neck. You should leave."

Being a creep, the man remarked, "From that pretty boy? Okay. Maybe someday I can return the favor, when you need a few bucks." With that, he handed Sam a business card and walked out. Sam had been watching his brother and only half listening. He took the card unconsciously.

Sam folded the card without reading it. He saw Dean coming towards him and slipped the card in his pocket. He still looked angry. Sam assured him that the creep was gone. They left to do their work.

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In the car, Sam was bursting with questions. Why would Dean be so unnerved by that sleazy photographer? Why would he be unhappy about being told he looked like a model? Sam's math was usually good but, he was preoccupied about the work so, his addition was off.

Dean's nerves were itching. He never thought he would see that creep again. And in front of Sam. He would kill that guy if he said anything.

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It had been several years ago. They needed money. Dean had already been caught stealing; he wouldn't let that happen again. There wasn't enough time to do legitimate work and get paid. He didn't have seed money to hustle pool and besides he was too young looking. He needed money now.

There was one thing he promised himself he would never do, not even for Sam. But, as they say, desperate times...He headed downtown.

It didn't take long for a man to approach him. He told Dean he was very pretty, photogenic he said. He wanted to take his picture. He would pay him. Dean cautiously agreed.

They walked around the corner and up a narrow staircase into a dark hallway. Dean demanded payment, up front; he was obliged. At the end of the hall, the man unlocked a door opening into a cramped office. It had the appearance of a waiting room. There was a small desk and three plastic molded chairs. Dean knew sleaze when he saw it. He reminded himself not to accept any offered food or beverage.

The studio was real. There was equipment, lights, tripods and screens, cameras, even a couple of those umbrella things. Dean relaxed a little. He was there almost two hours.

The session started with his face. That didn't last too long since that really wasn't the main attraction. Dean was assured these photos were for a 'private collection'. The creep was in full bloom. But, it was a lot of money. And as long as nobody touched him, he would cooperate.

For not being a model, Dean found creative ways to hide his face during the body shots.

When it was over, Dean got dressed. The creep never touched him but he went too deep into Dean's pocket as he slipped him an extra hundred on his way out. It felt wrong but, he could justify almost anything to take care of Sam.

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Sam knew his brother wouldn't want to talk about it but, he had to ask.

"Dean, who was that guy?"

"What did that creep tell you?"

"We didn't talk, Dean. I told him to get lost. That was it."

Sam could see the relief wash over Dean's face. This was one secret he might never learn.

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While researching online, Sam's curiosity grabbed hold. He fished the folded business card from his pocket. He would find about this guy. He noticed the scrawl and vaguely remembered the creep writing something on the back. It read:

" "MANCHILD vol 3 june '98 "


	2. Chapter 2

NOW

"So, Sammy, anything?"

"Well, how about a dead photographer who just got his first solo exhibit? I'm thinking maybe a deal? It does say 'tragic'"

"You know, Sammy, we don't use the same dictionary as most people and besides, that's a pretty crappy deal. Wouldn't you want to be famous before you die?"

Sam had no idea how he got elected for this job. But, there was something about this story. He decided to read it through.

"Tragic Death Of Local Photog Leads To Solo Exhibit"

"Local photographer...exhibit this weekend...successful commercial...two books published...personal problems...rebuilding his career...exhibit details on page eight."

Sam found page eight. It was an ad for the exhibit with a picture of the photographer. He stared at the picture. He'd seen that face before. He knew that name from somewhere.

Dean asked, "How's it looking?" When he got no answer, he called out to his brother, twice.

Sam snapped out of his thoughts and spoke as if distracted. "I don't know, yet. I want to do a little research on this guy."

"Suit yourself. I'll be in my room."

Sam searched and found a website for the photographer's business. There was another picture of him, younger, this time. Sam couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. Unfortunately, there wasn't much additional information. There were no other pictures, no samples of his work, 'due to the upcoming exhibit'. Sam had a thought of showing the picture to Dean, maybe he would remember. But that idea quickly faded.

He paced restlessly. He just couldn't let go of these thoughts. Why not tell Dean? He remembered how his brother used to freak out about having his picture taken. Sam had a flash of a memory. It was years ago, before he left for school. He went back to his laptop. This time, he searched for the guy's work. He found what he was looking for on the fourth page, 'ManChild'.

He felt sick. He closed his eyes and could see the business card with the hand written message on the back. He needed to know, for sure.

He found the ManChild site but, it required membership to access back issues. Well, this web builder had never encountered Sam Winchester. He used some skills that he happened to have and he was in. He searched the photo credits, actually surprised to find any. There wasn't much; just one issue with three pages of his work.

Sam hesitated, then he tapped on the link. The pictures appeared one at a time. They were all black and white and they didn't belong here. Sam was struck by the look of them, like works of art. He almost forgot what he was supposed to be looking for. All six were of the same guy. He was young and well built and Sam had been looking at that body his entire life.

But the face was not seen, not until the last photo. Sam was no expert but, it looked amazing. It showed the model's back ,with the light accentuating the rippling in the muscles. The model's face was turned, toward the camera but looking elsewhere. There was no more question; it was Dean.

He tasted bile in the back of his throat realizing that his brother had done this for him. A feeling of dread hit him as he thought of the exhibit. He picked up his phone as he scrolled back to the ad.

Sam identified himself as a reporter. He said he was looking for a human interest angle, something not already in print. The exhibit was in a library and due to open in two days. The librarian was very forthcoming. He told Sam the photos were mostly from his recent work. While he was 'sick' ,some of his work was made unavailable and what was left, had not all been properly stored so a lot of it was lost. But he was able to find a few pieces.

Sam asked about his 'sickness'. It was the usual sad story,, a mental break, substance abuse. "But," the librarian continued, "he never stopped working even though some of his clients were less than…. below his usual caliber." Sam asked to finish the interview in person. He had to see those pictures.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam packed up his laptop and went to pick up a change of clothes. On his way, he would let his brother know that he was going out. The library was less than a three hour drive and if he played it like it was just a whim, he felt that he could easily persuade Dean to stay home.

Nearing Dean's room, Sam decided his job just got easier. He could hear the singing; his brother was playing rock star.

"I don't want your...I don't need your…."

Sam didn't bother to knock. He cautiously opened the door to find Dean was playing drummer rock star.

"All I've got is a photograph…"

As Sam walked in, Dean looked up and removed his headphones. Sam said, "I thought that guy had only one arm."

Dean smiled and answered. " Well then, I must be twice as good. What's up?"

Sam said he was going to look into the photographer story. When Dean offered to ride with him, he said he just had to get it out of his system and that it was probably a waste of time. Dean didn't need much convincing; he was never really interested. Sam told Dean that he would check in as Dean tossed him the car keys and said, "garage".

As Sam crossed the hallway to his own room, he heard Dean call.

"Don't be late for dinner!"

Sam called back. "Yes, dear!

In his room, Sam moved quickly. He grabbed a clean white shirt, a suit and a pair of shoes. Since he was going to the garage, he wouldn't have to pass Dean's room or explain anything.

Once on the road, he thought back to that day when they saw the creep. "A creep that takes great pictures," Sam thought.

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Dean had refused to answer any of Sam's questions. They had work to do and that's all Dean wanted to talk about. Sam could feel that card in the tiny fifth pocket of his jeans but, until he was alone, he wouldn't dare take it out again. Until now, he had only had enough time to read the card and flip it over before his brother had come to check on him.

The job had been scary and messy. The brothers were filthy and exhausted. In addition, Sam had gotten badly hurt. Before Dean could stitch him up, he had Sam take painkillers which also put him to sleep. After cleaning himself up, Dean undressed his little brother and took all their clothes to the motel laundry room.

The next day, Sam checked his pocket to find that the business card was all but disintegrated. They never spoke about it again.

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Sam pulled into the municipal parking lot across from the library. He would take advantage of the location to change clothes.

He introduced himself to the librarian and reminded him that they had spoken on the phone. He started by asking about the photographer's life.

The librarian was very knowledgeable and eager to talk.

"He was a very successful commercial photographer. His landscapes and still lifes were legendary and some are even in museums and art galleries. He was really quite famous and highly in demand at one time."

When Sam asked about what happened to him, he found out that there were mental issues that had never been addressed and that contributed to his downfall.

"What did he do for money?"

"He didn't need the money. He just loved to take pictures; but he had become unreliable, missing appointments and deadlines so, he would work for anyone."

"Is that why he worked for skin magazines?"

"That only happened once. Have you seen any of those pictures?"

Sam nodded and said they were not what he expected.

The librarian continued. " That type of publication wouldn't hire him. He couldn't give them what they wanted. He was working for an individual who took advantage. I think the magazine used his name for their own purposes. "

When Sam asked what had happened to that work, he was told that the magazine paid for the negatives, proofs and all. The paperwork was all legal. And that within a couple of years had sold out to an internet publishing company. At this point, there was no telling where any of it was.

Sam was uneasy but, he resigned himself to believe that what he had seen was all there was. He had one more question.

"Why are you sponsoring this exhibit?"

"He was my friend, He saved my life."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam was more confused than ever. How could this be the same guy they met at the gas station? But, those were Dean's pictures and maybe there were more. If this librarian was his friend, who knew what he could be hiding? He needed to get to the bottom of this. He asked the librarian to elaborate.

"I was on the street when I met him. He cleaned me up and helped me get back into school. That's how I got this job."

Sam decided to ask the question. "What did you have to give him?"

"It wasn't like that. We earned our way. "

"Wait, we?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"He helped a lot of people. Drunks, homeless, runaways. He took us in and we contributed, made repairs, did the gardening, even cooked and cleaned. In return, he got us jobs or a ticket home. Sometimes he just paid guys to take their pictures. Most of the time he paid them more than he made, if he was working. I think that's what helped him. It took years and some really good doctors but, in time he got better. And all he asked for, really, was for us to try to do well and maybe a thank you."

Sam thought back to that morning all those years ago. He had handed Sam the card and said something about needing money. Could it be so simple? Was he just angry that Dean had snubbed him? But, if he was so altruistic, why throw it back in Dean's face? Sam reviewed the timeline, in his head, and realized that the guy wasn't being a creep; he was just very sick. Lost in his own thoughts, Sam didn't hear the librarian's invitation to peek at the exhibit or notice the program that was being handed to him.

The librarian tapped Sam's arm and it startled him. He took the program and scanned the list of pictures. They walked upstairs and entered the reading room.

"He left me dozens of pieces. We have two anchor photos, a landscape and a portrait. I plan to rotate the others as part of a permanent display."

Against the wall opposite the doorway, was a long table. Above it was a picture of the photographer. It must have been taken at the height of his career; Sam barely recognized him. The the two side walls were adorned with black and white photographs. In the center were the anchor pieces. To the left was a large landscape and to the right was a portrait.

The librarian directed Sam to the right and became very animated. The title of the portrait was 'eighteen'.

" Look at that face; he's young and strong. He's all future. But, those eyes, as if he's carrying the weight of the world, at that age. He's mesmerizing. I see that and it touches me. I want to know what happens to him. Isn't it stunning?"

Sam agreed because he was stunned. He saw all of that, too, and more, because he knows what happened to him. Although it was difficult to speak, he asked where the picture had come from and found out it was one of a very few that could be salvaged from the 'lost works'.

The librarian was walking around the room and describing the other pieces. Sam hadn't moved. He was unable to take his eyes off the portrait of Dean. Harnessing what composure he could muster, Sam finally turned away and followed the librarian.

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Sam didn't realize he was still holding the program until he tried to remove his suit jacket. He stuffed it in his pocket and changed for the ride home. As he drove, he knew he should call his brother but, he had no idea what to say. He wanted Dean to know how beautiful the pictures were. But how did he explain looking into his past and finding out his secret?

Sam pulled the car over to make the call. As he grabbed his phone, Dean called him. Sam took one slow deep breath before he answered.

"Hey, I'm on my way back"

"Did you find out anything interesting?"

Sam was always amazed at Dean's uncanny choice of words. He told him there was no case but, there might be something else. Before Dean could question him, Sam cut the conversation short with the dangers of cell phones and driving. He would be home within a couple of hours. Dean said dinner would be ready. Sam smiled at this, comforted in the knowledge that his brother would always take care of him. Simultaneously, he couldn't ignore the responsibility he was feeling to do the same.

He still had no plan on how he would present all of this to Dean. He thought of how many years his brother had carried the guilt of that experience. Dean never saw these pictures; he couldn't have.

Sam got back into the Impala and drove.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam phoned Dean once more from the road. He wanted so badly to understand what his brother was feeling and how to make it better. He couldn't get that day out of his mind. Dean had been so upset and Sam could see now that he had gotten all his feelings from Dean. The anger, the hostility. Those were his brother's emotions and Sam had latched on always trusting his big brother's instincts.

Dinner was uneventful and the conversation was guarded, at least by Sam. He glossed over the details and told Dean only the bare minimum. The death was by natural causes, nothing mysterious at all. And the exhibit was being presented by his friend, no deal required.

Dean concluded that this episode should be put to bed but, he saw a look on his brother's face that said otherwise. Dean asked, "What is it Sam? What happened?"

Sam was having a difficult time choosing his words. He decided just to tell Dean the truth. He had been punishing himself, for nothing, all these years.

"I want you to come with me to the exhibit."

"Photography? Not happening."

Sam took a minute to gather his courage and prepare himself for the backlash. "I understand how you feel but, there's something you need to see."

"No, Sam. you don't understand." Dean's anger was simmering; he did not want to have this conversation, ever.

Against all his better judgement, Sam kept talking. "I know what you did, Dean. And I know what you think you did."

Dean's anger came to a boil. "You don't know anything about it!"

Sam's words came out in spite of himself. "I saw the pictures. Who do you think the dead photographer was?"

Dean turned away in an attempt to hide the humiliation, the anger and the rest of the pain and revenge filled emotions he was fighting. Sam didn't need to see his brother's face to know that his eyes were welling up. This was supposed to make him feel better.

"Dean, don't do this to yourself. Believe me, you have nothing to feel bad about. Come see the pictures. I know you did it for me and you should also know that I would have burned the place down to protect you."

Dean wiped his face as he shook his head and a small smile crossed his lips. Sam pressed the program into Dean's hand and left the room.

Dean sensed, more than felt. the paper in his hand. He brought it up toward his face. He was unnerved when he saw the photographer's picture but, he was certain that Sam would not hurt him. He forced himself to read the program, including the bio, while pushing the memories further away.

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Early the next morning, Sam dressed for his daily commune with nature. On his return, he proceeded directly to the kitchen, drawn in by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Dean was seated at the table appearing to be suffering from a severe lack of sleep. He said, "I've been thinking about it. The guy's dead and I'm tired of running from this. I want to go."

Sam knew this was the right thing to do. He wanted so badly to take this burden from him. He admired his big brother's bravery and, even though, he knew Dean was still unsure, he always did what needed to be done.

On the ride out, the brothers did what they did best. They kept the chatter light and avoided the subject at hand.

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Sam and Dean walked into the library and started up the stairs towards the exhibit. Each person descending seemed to give Dean a second look. He thought it was his imagination or his own self-consciousness. At the landing, the librarian noticed Sam and walked over.

"Nice to see you again. The exhibit is going very….." He stopped talking as he looked at Dean, who was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. Sam politely disentangled himself from the librarian and lead Dean into the reading room.

Now, the stares were more obvious. Sam guided his brother toward the right side of the room. Dean gawked at 'eighteen'. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "That's me."


	6. Chapter 6

Dean continued to stare at the picture. He didn't feel Sam's arm around his shoulder or see the two women approaching. They spoke in buzzwords; the way beginners do to impress.

The first woman remarked how beautiful the portrait was. They heard Dean say, "That's me." One of the women turned to see who was speaking. She gasped; her eyes darting between Dean and his portrait. She turned to her companion and spoke quietly; causing her friend to peek at Dean also. Within seconds, they had reverted to their true nature. Their fancy vocabulary was stripped away and they were able to appreciate the work for what it was.

Dean appeared to brighten as if touched by the sun. Sam beamed like a proud parent. He asked his brother if he would like to see the rest of the exhibit. Dean turned to Sam and said, "That's my picture." Sam smiled and answered, "I know, Dean."

As they roamed through the exhibit, people still took a second look at Dean but, he was no longer affected. He had been unaware that the portrait even existed and if this was to be the souvenir of that night, then he would gladly take it .

Sam saw the librarian move toward them. He was concerned for what Dean still might not know but, he knew it would be easier now. Sam walked toward the librarian and shook his hand commenting on the display. The librarian radiated his pleasure, all the while staring at Dean. He finally asked Sam " where did you find this guy?"

He hesitated as to how much information he wanted to give so, he played it safe. He said they worked together. The librarian turned to Dean, shook his hand and said, "Do you know how lucky you are?"

Dean could count how many times someone had said that to him and how each time he had laughed, This time was no different.

"I don't know about that."

"You have been immortalized by one of the greatest photographers of our time. Do you realize how important this work is? "

Dean felt this was way above his grade level. "Yes, it's very...awesome, thank you." Regardless of the swagger and the sharp tongue, he wasn't a fan of having fans. Sam could tell it was time to go. He extricated his brother from the handshake and mumbled something about a deadline.

At the information desk, Dean grabbed a fresh program. He handed Sam the keys for the drive home. Their conversation was mostly one-sided as Dean slowly fell asleep. He hadn't allowed these memories to surface for many years but, having seen the portrait, he opened that door.

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Dean was very capable of protecting himself. He never had this type of experience before and he hoped that it wouldn't matter. He didn't wait long.

The man approached him.

"Do you need help, son?"

Dean decided to play rough. "Piss poor pick-up line, dude. You got money?"

The man reached into his inside jacket pocket and showed Dean a billfold. He asked him to follow him to his studio. "I think you're very photogenic. You have a great look. Let me take your picture; I'll pay you for your time."

Dean didn't like the look of the place and didn't trust the guy so, he asked for payment upfront. He was handed one hundred dollars as they continued down the hallway to the office. The outer room was small and dingy. Dean became more wary. He had a mind full of imagination as to what awaited him behind the inner door. He was wrong. It was a highly organized and well maintained studio.

The photographer gave Dean another hundred dollar bill and asked him to remove his shirt. He started taking pictures. After some time, the photographer changed cameras and asked Dean to undress. He told him it was for a 'private client' and, if he preferred, he would avoid showing his face as much as possible. It was a lot of money; Dean complied.

When it was over, he was left alone to dress. He found two hundred dollars more with his things. He thought it would be worse but, even so, he justified it by thinking of Sam.

He exited the studio and found the photographer seated at the desk. He stood up to thank Dean and told him to take care of himself. Again, Dean felt uneasy. As they shook hands, Dean felt the photographer quickly slip something into his pocket as he said, "I hope this helps."

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Dean heard Sam calling his name from far away. He realized he had fallen asleep. They had arrived back at the bunker. Dean rubbed his eyes and tried to put his thoughts back in their boxes. But one kept sneaking out. He voiced it. "Sam, I think there might be more pictures."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean couldn't clear his mind of the images he had seen while in the car. It was unbelievable that there was only one portrait. Maybe he just never used those other pictures. If he was really the humanitarian, that the bio claims, maybe it was just an excuse to give money without seeming like a handout. Maybe there might really be people like that in the world.

Of course there were more pictures; Sam had seen them. But the exhibit had been such a success, he didn't want to ruin the day. He truthfully told Dean that the portrait was the only photo the library had. For now, Dean would not find out about the magazine.

"Dean, what makes you think there are more? Remember, the librarian said a lot of his work was ruined."

"I do remember but, the night he took that portrait, I know he took others, Sam."

"Dean, if you've ever seen a photographer work, you know they could take hundreds of pictures and only keep one."

It did seem reasonable. However, Dean was having difficulty believing it. He needed to know the truth. It would be best to leave Sam out of it, for now. If his memories were accurate, he would tell his brother, in his own way, if at all. Let him think the portrait was all there was. Dean grabbed his keys and left.

When Sam called, Dean said he was on a supply run. When he didn't return after a couple of hours, he knew Dean had gone back to the library.

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Dean walked directly upstairs to the exhibit. He found the librarian in conversation with a small group of people. He caught his eye and the librarian excused himself. He must have made a point of where he was going because Dean saw the entire group look his way.

They shook hands and the librarian said, "We can talk privately in my office, if you wish."

Dean was relieved but also wary. He did prefer privacy but how would the librarian know? They walked into a small room across from the exhibit and sat on two club chairs under the window. Dean started to invent a cover story about checking facts when he felt a hand on his arm and heard, "It's alright. I know why you've come."

Dean was taken aback. Unsure of what was coming, he sat back and waited. "I know who you are. He told me about you."

Dean closed his eyes and hung his head. The librarian continued.

"You don't have to worry. We don't have any other pictures." Dean's head sprung back up and he stared slack-jawed. Before Dean could speak, he heard the whole story.

"He saw you on the street and you didn't belong there. He did the same for me. He could tell you were desperate and would do anything. He needed a model and you needed the money." Dean asked what happened to the pictures. " He was hired by a private customer but, the guy sold the pictures to a magazine."

Dean was shocked. "They were published? Nobody asked me!"

Again, the librarian placed a gentle hand on Dean. "From what I understand, there was a release, a contract and a bill of sale, all legal. Besides, the magazine is defunct and that was years ago. What difference does it make now? We still have that beautiful portrait."

Dean understood the logic but, not the reality. Naked pictures of him, in a magazine. He couldn't explain this to his brother, his baby brother. He couldn't let Sam think he ever did anything like that. He would feel so guilty.

Recognizing there was nothing more to be said, Dean rose and the librarian followed. They shook hands and walked out of the office. As they passed the exhibit room, Dean entered to take one last look at his portrait. When he came out, the librarian approached him and said, "If you really want to find something, you can probably find it on the internet."

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It had been several hours since Dean had gone out. Sam thought of calling the library but, what excuse could he use for the librarian not to talk? Besides, by now, Dean would know everything. But, he would need time and probably want some privacy. Dean wouldn't do anything until he came home. Sam determined he still had time to do something.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean couldn't drive fast enough. He wanted to get as far away as possible from that place. He knew it was silly but, maybe he could leave the thoughts behind, too, He did admit the portrait had been a surprise. It was a beautiful picture.

ManChild magazine. How many people had seen those pictures? Maybe even people he knew. He didn't know anyone like that. Did he really want to see them? He made up his mind. He would find them; he had to know. Deep in his thoughts, Dean almost missed the call. It was Sam.

"Hey, on your way back? You got an ETA?"

Dean didn't know how far he had traveled or even if he was moving in the right direction until Sam's call. He estimated another hour or so.

Sam knew his brother habitually underestimated his travel time. He used some kind of formula involving the actual time, based on speed and distance, and when he wanted to get where he was going.

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Sam had to make a decision. He loved his brother and he could only imagine what it would do to him for Sam, or anyone, to know about those pictures. He signed on to the magazine's website and found them. He attached the back up drive to the port and downloaded the pictures. He hadn't the heart to simply destroy them. He found them amazing and felt that someday, Dean would be able to truly appreciate them. Right now his emotions were too raw and Sam felt it might be too painful. It would be better to let him believe they didn't exist.

He slipped his phone into his pocket and went to his room. He searched his closet for the shoe box he kept on the top shelf. Their nomadic lifestyle had never been conducive to sentimental possessions. He placed the small device among his few pictures and other mementos. They would be safe now. If someday, Dean wanted to see them or Sam felt the time was right to show them, he would be ready.

Now that the photos were secure, he made the call. He left a voice mail asking for a callback asap. He needed help; he needed to help Dean. He went to get himself a beer. He got his call ten minutes later.

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She heard the voice mail alert. It was the music of the trumpeting heralds. Separating herself from her 'femme du jour', she kissed her lightly on the forehead and said,"Sorry, I have to get that." In answer to the questioning look, she added, "It's my heroes."

After listening to the message, she called Sam. "Hey, bitches."

"Hi, Charlie. Actually, it's..um..only one bitch this time." Sam explained that he needed help removing information from a website. Charlie was intrigued as she believed Sam quite capable. She voiced this thought.

"I'm not talking about trashcan deleting, here. I mean erase, remove from the memory, disappear, no recovery."

"Oh. Okay, I can do that."

Sam hesitated. "I need to do it myself. I was hoping you could just guide me."

"What is it, naked pictures or something?" She laughed and when it wasn't reciprocated, she caught her breath and saw an image that raised her eyebrows. Charlie could feel the impatience of her house guest. She pointed her index finger in a 'one minute, please wait' signal and took her phone into the other room.

When the job was done, Charlie, as a safeguard, had Sam search for what they had just removed. The result was a banner across the screen.

Sam was happy. He had the pictures safely stored away and now, no one would be able to see them online.

Charlie was pleased. Saving the world was like that, even just saving Sam and Dean. And there were very few people, on the planet, with the ability even to attempt locating those files, aside from her.

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When Dean walked in, he heard Sam's voice.

"Hey, Sam." Dean motioned with his head and put a questioning look on his face. Sam said, "Charlie, Dean just came in." He handed his brother the phone.

Charlie and Dean exchanged the usual pleasantries with a side of teasing remarks. They were always happy to speak to each other. Dean handed Sam back the phone and walked into the library. He poured himself a drink, picked up his laptop and proceeded to the privacy of his room.

Sam and Charlie ended their conversation. But, before hanging up, Sam asked again, "And you're sure its permanent? Okay, you're the best. Yea, you know that already."

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He found the ManChild website pretty easily but, the archives required membership. Dean searched the desk drawers until he found it. He kept this credit card for emergencies. The name was Bobby Singer. Dean said, "Sorry, old man. I never wanted you to see anything like this."

The only usable information he had was the photographer's name. The result of the search was displayed almost instantly. There was one issue with three pages. Dean began to feel overheated. He could feel beads of sweat along his hairline and a slickness on his palms.

He drained his glass and steeled his nerves with one long slow breath. After another moment's hesitation, he tapped on the link.

The message appeared across the screen:

'These images have been removed by the webmaster.'


	9. Chapter 9

Any one else would have taken comfort in knowing his deepest, darkest secret was safe. But who would have wanted the pictures erased more than him? Why can't he just accept a lucky break? Maybe because he doesn't recognize it as one.

Dean searched in every way he could imagine but, never found them. He thought back to the librarian and called him.

The librarian was also at a loss. He assumed the pictures were still available in the archives. He was unaware of any legal action and he, himself, had never gotten involved. He told Dean he was sorry they were gone.

Dean took offense but, he misunderstood. The librarian only wished that Dean had seen them. He could let go of that anxiety and feel much better. He offered Dean an open invitation to come see the exhibit anytime. And reminded him the portrait was on permanent display. He asked if Dean would be interested in having a new portrait taken. Dean graciously refused.

Dean's emotions were scattered. He was relieved the pictures were gone but, he felt deprived for having not seen them. He was embarrassed knowing they were out there for others to see but, curious because he was now familiar with the work. He had an odd thought. Someday he would be old, he might get old, or hurt. And what would it mean to be able to see himself young and healthy?

He lifted his empty glass and realized that this was a problem he could solve. He checked his room first. Whatever stash he had, was depleted. He wanted to be alone to sulk or brood or whatever the current pity party was called. Unfortunately, if he wanted to drink, and he did, he would have to leave his room.

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Sam tried to keep his mind occupied. He couldn't stop his eyes from following his thoughts down the hall. He was sure his brother was hunting for those pictures. He had complete faith in Charlie and had seen for himself that they were gone. He hated having deceived Dean in this way.

Sam's guilt weighed heavily. He wanted to grab his brother and show him how beautiful he looked. He wanted to watch his face and see all the shame and anxiety drain away. He recalled the change in Dean at the sight of the portrait. He didn't need to see it to know how his brother looked now.

Dean's door opened and Sam heard him walking down the hallway. He forced his concentration back into his book. He watched Dean grab a bottle and, as he turned, Sam said, "Hey, you hungry? I thought maybe…"

"No!" Dean snapped. Then he turned to face Sam and after a calming breath said, "Not now. Thanks, Sammy."

Dean walked back to his room.

Sam knew once Dean had something in hand, he wouldn't let go until it was dead or the matter was settled. He would go insane trying to change the outcome and wondering. Sam couldn't watch this happen. This was the first time Sam questioned what he had done.

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Dean soon stopped pouring the whiskey into the glass. It seemed a wasted motion. His frustration was quickly being replaced by inebriation. If he could stop thinking, maybe it would all go away. As his thoughts became less logical, he felt he was seeing things more clearly. Dean soon fell asleep.

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Sam had watched a movie, eaten dinner, and done some reading and still Dean had not come out of his room. He wanted to go to him and tell him everything. But, Dean had not confided in him; he wasn't supposed to know. Well, there was nothing unusual about stopping by to say goodnight.

When there was no response to his knocking, Sam slowly opened Dean's bedroom door. It could have been funny, if it wasn't so sad. He appeared to be in the midst of dressing or undressing. On his back, one boot on, shirt unbuttoned. One foot was on the floor and the boot was in his hand. His other hand was hanging off the bed holding the bottle.

Sam carefully corrected the situation and covered his brother with a blanket. Dean turned over and hugged his pillow. Sam stood, for several minutes, watching him sleep.

Sam went directly to his closet and grabbed the shoe box. He sat on the bed and gingerly shifted the worn and tattered remnants of his memories. He removed the digital reminder of Dean's memories. He held it in his palm and stared, as if, waiting for it to speak, to tell him what to do. He gently closed his hand around it and returned the box to the shelf.

His thoughts drifted across the hall. He opened his hand again and stared. He heard a soft tapping at his door and watched as it slowly opened. Dean stuck his head in, checking to see if Sam was awake.

"Did you tuck me in?"

"You woke up to ask me that?"

Dean entered the room and sat on the chair. His eyes were slightly red and seemed unfocused. Sam asked him if he was okay while trying to be subtle about obviously keeping his hand closed. Dean wasn't aware enough to notice. They sat, each wrestling with his own secret and the effect on his brother.

"I think I need to tell you something."


	10. Chapter 10

Sam squeezed his hand tighter afraid Dean could see through him.

Dean was almost hyperventilating from anxiety. His whole life he tried to be a role model for his younger brother. Do the right thing. Sam wouldn't love him any less, he knew that. But, he had to prepare himself for that look, sure to be in his eyes, the pity, the disappointment, every time he looked at him.

"Wait, Dean." Sam didn't know what he would say next but, he couldn't continue to watch his brother suffer like this.

"You don't have to say any more."

"Why not? Whatever it is, It doesn't matter, you understand, or some other emo…" He caught himself. This anger wasn't meant for Sam. He paused before he continued. "It's about that photographer."

"You mean that amazing portrait at the exhibit?"

Dean's frustration reached its peak. "Forget the freaking portrait, Sam! There were other pictures!"

Dean's pain was almost physical to Sam. He spoke impulsively. "It's not like anyone else will see them." Sam bit his tongue but, the words had already escaped.

Dean could hear the uncertainty in Sam's voice. He had said something unintentional. Dean thought back to earlier in the day. He remembered the banner on the website about the deleted pictures.

Sam realized he was making Dean think and his brother was very good at putting things together. He tried to change lanes. "I mean, the librarian told us everything else was probably lost or destroyed right?" Sam was not as good a liar as he needed to be.

Dean didn't speak. He couldn't because he couldn't get a breath. The air had been sucked like a vacuum out of the room. Sam could see a subtle change in Dean's expression. He had been anxious and uncomfortable. He appeared to be getting calmer, almost to the point of frightening.

Sam felt he needed to explain. He saw that his good intentions had backfired. " You always take care of me no matter what it does to you. I wanted to help you. That guy was getting popular again; people would be looking at his work."

Through clenched teeth, and very deliberately, Dean asked. "What did you do?"

Sam brought his arm up and opened his hand showing Dean the flash drive. Tentatively, he said, "I think this is what you're talking about." There was a question, in the air, not wanting to be asked or answered.

Dean felt as if someone had just lifted a film from his eyes. The world suddenly became clearer. Those were the pictures from the website. Naked pictures of him. "You saw them?" In his mind, he heard Charlie's voice. "Did she see them, too? What ,did you have a party?" Dean had never used the word 'mortified' before. It seemed to describe this feeling of shame and despair.

"Dean, I'm sorry I did this. No, I'm sorry I did it this way. I thought I was protecting you. Nobody saw them but me. Please take it. The guy who took these is the same one who took that incredible portrait.."

Sam grabbed his brother's hand and deposited the drive. He felt no resistance. Now, it was Dean's turn to stare at his own hand and wait for direction. Sam kept talking.

"Remember how good you felt at the exhibit? Do what you want with them but promise me you'll look at them, just once."

Dean glared at his brother like he just asked him to eat shit.

"Please, Dean, promise me."

He just offered him a second helping.

Dean's gaze returned to the device in his hand. Without moving anything but his eyes, he quickly looked at Sam and back. Dean looked again at his brother as he slowly rose from his seat. Sam kept talking.

"They're off the internet for good. I deleted them. That's probably the only copy. Believe me, they're beautiful. Let me keep them safe, until you're ready."

Sam reached out as Dean closed his fist. He growled the word, 'no'. Sam shrank back, the word like a physical blow. He was willing to take whatever his brother needed to give. He felt responsible for all the hurt Dean was feeling now.

He watched Dean leave the room, preparing for the explosion of the slamming door. Dean crossed the hall to his bedroom and quietly shut the door.

Sam sank down onto the mattress and hung his head. He blinked, not caring or noticing the tear falling from the corner of his eye.

Dean leaned against the closed door, letting his head fall back. He could also feel moisture as he closed his eyes. He rolled the flash drive with his fingers. He had a strong urge to slam it down and stomp on it until it was a smear on the floor.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam knew he wasn't stupid. Then he had to be the Fates least favorite person. He was seriously thinking if there was a way to stop time, not forever, just long enough for him to figure out what to do now. He stood up and walked towards the half open door. He looked across the hall. He took one step into the hallway and paused. Aside from stopping time, x-ray vision would be nice too. It was much too quiet. Dean was much too quiet. When he was upset, he was a breaker of things. He hadn't even slammed the door. Pivoting, Sam returned to his room.

Dean had the pictures and he wasn't happy. Not knowing didn't hurt. Not finding them hurt a little. But, discovering that Sam had seen them and hid them, that really hurt. A laugh came from somewhere deep inside as Dean recognized that he would have done the same for Sam. Except, in addition, he would have kicked that photographer's ass, if he wasn't already dead. Maybe even then. He looked again at the flash drive in his hand, and was still waiting for it to tell him what to do next.

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They had both been hurt and felt betrayed by each other. More often than not, it was unintentional.

He hadn't saved Dean from hell.

He ran away, on Dean's watch, leaving him to deal with their dad's crap. He always dealt with the crap.

He still remembers the look on Dean's face the night he announced he was leaving for Stanford. He should have told him when they were alone. So Dean could have shown his true feelings and not that anger that leached from their father. He didn't see Dean for a long time after that.

And Ruby. And the freaking salt gun. And Amy. And blaming him for their living this life.

And now, when he tries to help him, not only does he make Dean feel betrayed, again, he still feels that he has disappointed Sam. How many times and in how many ways, was Sam going to do this to his brother?

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Dean realized he was in the middle of a moment. If he was a character in a book, and wasn't he after all, this would be a climactic turning point. Here was a decision to determine his character for all time. Much calmer now, he thought again of Sam. Sam had done a really great thing for him. It was a chick-flick moment loving thing. He had given him a gift. He was embarrassed that Sam had seen them? Seriously?

The pictures were no longer available to anyone but him. He now had the power and the ability to snuff them forever. But first…..

Holding the flash drive between thumb and forefinger, Dean raised it to eye level. "Okay, dude, let's dance."

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Sam tapped as lightly as he could. He wouldn't enter Dean's room without knocking but, he couldn't take the chance of being turned away. He got no response, as he had hoped, so he cautiously turned the door knob and slowly opened the door.

The only light was directly in front of him from the green banker's lamp on the desk. He could see his brother seated there. In front of Dean, on the desk, was his open laptop. Sam was unable to see the screen but, he didn't need his desired x-ray vision to know what was displayed.

He called Dean's name in a voice barely above a whisper. His brother appeared to be unaware of either his sounds or his movements. He raised the volume a notch and tried again. This time he observed the smallest of acknowledgements. Dean nodded his head, once. Sam read this as an invitation and he accepted. He approached and resting his hand on Dean's shoulder, he squeezed gently.

He could now see what was on the screen and it was amazing. It showed the model's back, with the light accentuating the rippling in the muscles. The model's face was turned toward the camera but, looking elsewhere.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Sam removed his hand from his brother's shoulder and sat on the bed. He asked Dean if he was okay.

Dean changed position to face Sam. Using his favorite form of defense, he said, "I look pretty good,huh Sammy?"

Sam had a pained look on his face causing Dean to give up the pretense. Big brother started to tell the story when little brother interrupted saying that he already knew the why and needed no further explanation. "Dean, I want you to know, I think that was very brave, what you did."

"Brave?" This was the last thing he expected to hear and his face showed it. "You were never supposed to know."

Sam continued. "You don't have anything to feel bad about. And I know you did it for me. Dean, we're not kids anymore and I can help."

Dean hung his head. He wasn't unhappy. There was the beginning of a smile on his face. The pressure was off. The secret was out. And the pictures were awesome.


End file.
